


what's finally gonna let me sleep alright?

by DevilishKurumi



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Friends With Benefits, M/M, pre-fame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-26
Updated: 2014-09-26
Packaged: 2018-02-18 21:52:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2363408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevilishKurumi/pseuds/DevilishKurumi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>you might, you might.</p><p>(gratuitous one-shot porn thing about friends with benefits that might've been "with benefits" for too long.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	what's finally gonna let me sleep alright?

            Nathan's place only has one spare bedroom and usually Skwisgaar gets it. Pickles doesn't give a shit - he's the one who can go technically anywhere, with an okay credit score and no visa to hold him back, so it makes sense he usually winds up on the futon or on the floor.

            The problem with the floor is that there's not really padding between floorboards and the carpet, so it fucks up his shoulders. The futon, by comparison, only sucks because it doesn't actually fold flat any more - Nathan and Magnus liked telling the story about the party girls who broke it - and it has a support beam in the middle that can dig into your back if you don't lay right. It's cool though. Pickles likes it here more than he does at his shitty long-stay hotel.

            He'd passed out earlier than the rest of them, but considering it's the first time he's slept in over twenty-four hours, nobody gives him much shit for it. By the time he's woken up by a hand on his shoulder, the apartment has gone from mildly noisy to dead silent, aside from the sound of the cars out on the street.

            "Moves overs," Skwisgaar whispers into his ear, pushing Pickles into the middle of the futon as he climbs to fill in the space. He should've known it was going to be like this tonight. "You ams boneless whens you're sleepings," he adds as Pickles squirms limply to budge over. He resolutely keeps his eyes shut and pretends Skwisgaar's not there, because two hours of sleep is barely a fucking nap, okay, no matter what Skwisgaar's mumbling into his ear.

            "Nathans ams asleeps," he murmurs, which Pickles already _knew_ , since Nathan snores like a motherfucker and he can hear it from here. He's mostly saying it to underline the way he presses all into Pickles' back, his arm snaking over his stomach. Magnus must've left, too, if _that's_ how Skwisgaar's playing.

            " _I'm_ tryin' ta sleep," Pickles finally sighs, squeezing his eyes closed to drive the point home. He's kind of hoping for an easy fight, but it's Skwisgaar, _so_.

            Skwisgaar puts his lips against Pickles' earlobe. "Don'ts let me stops you."

            Pickles hates it when Skwisgaar breaks out the _come-fuck-me_ voice, because it's the quickest way to give him a stiffy. He groans into the back of the futon, quiet because Nathan might be a heavy sleeper but he's got sensitive ears, and grabs Skwisgaar's hand off his stomach.

            "Cheap tricks," he says as he drags Skwisgaar's hand down to his underwear and presses his palm down against his hardening dick. "Real fuckin' cheap."

            "Can'ts helps it," Skwisgaar chuckles into his ear. "I fights dirties."

            His hand rubs flat-palmed against his dick, fingertips tracing the outline of his bulge even as Pickles closes his eyes again and squirms into Skwisgaar's touch. He can feel Skwisgaar's hard-on while the guitarist fills the space between them like water, grinding with slow movements. Pickles lifts a hand lazily to his mouth to try and muffle his groans and to try and stop his heavy breathing.

            Skwisgaar's other arm curves under Pickles' neck and he covers Pickles' hand with his own, fingers wrapping around his palm. "I likes the noises you make," he whispers. Pickles can hear the crack in his voice as he grinds against his ass.

            "Yeah?" Pickles asks, his own voice a raspy whisper. Skwisgaar presses his mouth against the curve of Pickles' neck and slips his hand into his underwear, wrapping long fingers around the shaft, and Pickles sighs out a breath and ruts against his hand. "Shit, Skwisgaar -"

            There's something in Skwisgaar's voice that reverberates through Pickles from spine to sternum as he whispers, "Just lets me takes cares of yous," like there's nothing he wants more to do. Pickles knows he's using his fuck-groupies voice. He doesn't actually give a shit. Skwisgaar can treat him like the prettiest princess in the goddamn kingdom for all he cares, as long as he gets off in the end.

            It doesn't take long. Pickles finds himself squirming against the futon, their hands over his mouth only doing so much to muffle the sharp-edged pants and long, low groans, and he knows it's laughable how quick Skwisgaar's twisting him up. He can feel Skwisgaar's hand press down against his mouth, and when he scrapes his teeth over Pickles' earlobe he _loses_ it, jerking and shuddering from shoulder to toe as he comes with a muffled moan. Skwisgaar sucks on his earlobe the entire time, his leg hooking over Pickles' knees to hold him down.

            It's good. It feels good. Pickles bets he's more boneless now than he'd been when Skwisgaar first climbed into so-called bed with him. For his part, Skwisgaar just uses the corner of the sheet to wipe off his hand, and though he's still stiff against Pickles' ass, he starts making moves to leave. He's like that.

            Pickles decides he doesn't want to deal with Skwisgaar being the bigger man and rolls over, ignoring the amused surprise on Skwisgaar's face. He has his hair back in a ponytail, which is how he sleeps sometimes, so he can't exactly get a grip on all that hair, but Pickles doesn't mind. His hand trails down Skwisgaar's bare stomach to the waistband of his sweat pants while he stares at those blue eyes and pouty lips. Skwisgaar stares back, quirking the corner of his lip like he's about to say, _wells_?

            "You," Pickles sighs, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead against Skwisgaar's chest, "Are _such_ an asshole."

            Maybe he was going to say something, but Pickles cuts him short by shoving his hand under Skwisgaar's waistband. When his fingers wrap around his dick, Skwisgaar sighs, back arching as he curls around Pickles. He does that sometimes. Pickles has a feeling he's got a huge thing for their size difference.

            Skwisgaar's pants and moans are soft and practiced; Pickles knows it and doesn't comment, working his hand over Skwisgaar's dick with less meandering attention than Skwisgaar had given him. He's too good to him, honestly.

            Skwisgaar's leg finds its way over Pickles' again. "Oh," he sighs, pressing his lips to Pickles' forehead as his hips roll into his hand. "Pickle -"

            "Already gonna come?" he asks, tired but undeniably proud. Skwisgaar hisses and jerks when Pickles squeezes and doesn't respond. That's okay. "Act like yer the ladykiller, but look at how close you are after just grindin' on me," Pickles mutters into Skwisgaar's chest, feeling his breath hitch with every stroke, the little circles he's rolling with his hips getting more and more insistent. His hands grip Pickles' shoulders and for a second he worries he's about to get flipped onto his back - which isn't a _bad_ thing, but Pickles wants to go to _sleep_ tonight - but Skwisgaar only uses the grip to pull Pickles closer against him, breathing going ragged.

            " _Yes_ ," he hears Skwisgaar hiss between his teeth, and he feels the shudder roll down Skwisgaar's spine as he comes. He rolls his hips in little circles as he does.

            Kind of sweaty and gross, Pickles wipes his hand off on the inside of Skwisgaar's sweats because he doesn't want to mess up the sheet even _more_. Skwisgaar, for his part, just breathes softly against Pickles' scalp. Not for the first time, Pickles wonders what would happen if he crossed the line and kissed Skwisgaar right on his dumb, smirking mouth. He doesn't, obviously, because he's already got a strained relationship with Magnus and he doesn't need his other guitarist getting weird around him because he likes to make out.

            "Ams you gonna lets goes of me?" Skwisgaar asks. Pickles doesn't pay attention to the creeping fondness in his tone.

            "Ya promise to let me sleep if I do?"

            Skwisgaar's lips purse against his skin. "What if I says no?"

            In a fit of idiocy, Pickles curls his arm across Skwisgaar's hips and shuts his eyes. "Could make ya sit fuckin' still until I'm out," he suggests.

            Skwisgaar doesn't respond right away and Pickles finds himself pinned against his chest, sweaty-smelling and tired. He actually starts to drift off before Skwisgaar shifts, untangling himself until Pickles is forced to acknowledge him with slit-narrowed eyes, climbing off the futon with a surprising amount of courtesy. Pickles isn't sure he likes it. "G'night, dude," he sighs.

            Skwisgaar stands there for a minute but Pickles already has his eyes closed again, resolutely going for another two hours to bring him up to four. "Nights," he finally says. He lingers for a few more moments, but Pickles is already too far out to care.

 


End file.
